


Resonating Happiness

by Aenaria



Series: Cruel, Cruel World (To Face on Your Own) [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Crossdressing, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Gen, M/M, OT3, Slice of Life, Threesome - F/M/M, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, also a bit of a crossover in the mix somewhere too, five sentence ficlets, i seem to have forgotten how to tag, let me know!, more tags to be added..., so if anyone knows any tags I should add
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-01-23 22:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1581029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aenaria/pseuds/Aenaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A ficlet collection taking place in the same universe as 'Cruel, Cruel World (To Face on Your Own)'.  Featuring Steve, Darcy, Bucky, and any combination thereof, as well as being full of domestic fluff.  And some maple syrup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pancakes and Maple Syrup (Steve/Darcy/Bucky)

**Author's Note:**

> To make a long summary very short, this collection's all about the domesticity and the fluff. Basically, it's my depository for all of the little side ficlets so far in the universe kicked off by 'Cruel, Cruel World (To Face on Your Own)', covering any and all topics as well as being (hopefully) light-hearted and amusing.
> 
> This chapter comes from the following prompt by hxans: "Steve/Darcy/Bucky making pancakes, winding up sticky with maple syrup."
> 
> Well, let’s call it the potential for stickiness here. Still, I hope you enjoy it! This is a direct follow on from ‘Cruel, Cruel World’ and takes place a few days after that, still holed up at a cottage far away from everyone else for a brief vacation.

It's the smell that lures Bucky out of bed that morning - the sharp richness of coffee, combined with something sweet that reminds him of fresh pastries. His pajama pants are...well, he’s not quite sure how they got all the way over there on top of the dresser, but he’s not going to question it. He rolls out of bed and pulls the pants on, not bothering with a shirt.

Bucky’s fairly sure neither Steve nor Darcy will complain about it.

He strolls down the stairs of the cottage leisurely, running a hand through hair that’s still mussed up from sleep as he follows the smells to their source. But he hangs back at the foot of the stairs, watching the scene playing out in the kitchen. Domesticity is rare in his life, and it’s nice to see it in action once and a while.

Steve’s busy with the coffee maker, pouring fresh brew into mugs, while Darcy hovers over the stove, pan in one hand and spatula in the other. A plate of pancakes rests on the counter next to her, and there’s a tray on the island loaded up with a couple of small pots and jugs filled with something. As quietly as he can Bucky sneaks over, peering into the pots and spotting some jams, powdered sugar, butter, and what’s possibly maple syrup. A quick taste reveals that it’s real maple syrup in there, not just some fakey knockoff stuff that’s sort of but entirely unlike genuine maple syrup.

“Hey!”

Bucky slowly pulls his finger out of his mouth and looks up to spot Darcy wielding her spatula in his direction, a stern look on her face. “What?” he asks, innocent enough that with any luck that butter on the table wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Hopefully.

She flicks the spatula in the direction of the stairs. “Get up there, you.”

“Why?” Now Bucky’s genuinely puzzled, because Darcy’s statement isn’t exactly making sense.

“We’re doing breakfast in bed,” Darcy says, waving the spatula at the tray in front of him, like it isn’t obvious enough. She nearly knocks Steve in the jaw with the spatula though, and he yanks it out of her hand during its next pass.

“We were hoping to surprise you,” Steve says, shooting him a fond grin as he leans over to check out the latest batch of pancakes.

Bucky grins and leans against the island, dipping his finger into the maple syrup once more. “Oh, I’m plenty surprised, don’t doubt it.”

Darcy, seeing that she’s been relieved of pancake duty however temporarily, rests on the opposite side of the counter and leans in until her face is barely inches away from Bucky’s. “Wow, you’re a pain in the ass sometimes, you know,” she says, though by the way she’s grinning it’s a term of endearment.

“Just one of my many skills.” Bucky reaches up and runs the finger covered in syrup across Darcy’s lower lip. He watches intently as her tongue flicks out to taste it, and then licks the rest of it away.

“Breakfast in bed is looking better and better, isn’t it?”

Bucky shrugs. “I can be convinced.”

This time Darcy dips her finger into the little jug of syrup, and it’s nearly impossible for Bucky to tear his eyes away from the movement of her lips and the way her tongue curls around the tip to scoop up all of the traces of the sticky liquid. He’s so distracted by this that he doesn’t notice Steve coming up behind him, one strong arm wrapping itself around his waist.

It says something, Bucky thinks, that he’s comfortable enough around these two people that he can let his guard down enough for Steve to sneak up on him, and at ease enough that he doesn’t react with alarm or violence when Steve does so. He rather likes the feeling.

“Get back upstairs,” Steve mumbles, mouth pressed against the stubbled skin of his cheek. He trails kisses forward, eventually stealing a maple flavored kiss from Bucky’s lips.

“Well, when you put it like that,” Bucky says when he pulls away.

Darcy smirks again, stealing another fingerful of syrup and sucking it into her mouth once more. “Don’t worry, we’ll be up soon,” she says. Steve’s hand, still resting on his waist, suddenly clenches, and Bucky knows Steve’s just as affected by the sight in front of them.

And the sooner he moves, the sooner everyone’s happy. So Bucky straightens up and gives Steve and Darcy his cockiest smile possible. “I’ll hold you to that,” he says. Then, he reaches out, grabs the jug of maple syrup, and begins to make his way back to the stairs. “In the meantime, this is coming with me,” he calls out. “Consider it incentive.”

It takes Steve and Darcy all of three minutes to join him in the bedroom, breakfast tray in hand.


	2. Tiny Humans (Steve x Darcy x Bucky)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter: "Bucky dealing with a tiny human." Kids these days...no respect for the metal arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the full prompt from Rainne is: "Steve/Darcy/Bucky - Bucky with a baby or small child. Not necessarily his (or any of theirs) unless you just want to - could be a lost child, random kid-saved-from-danger, or whatever. But I want to see Bucky dealing with a tiny human. :)"
> 
> Hanging around with the under-fives crowd in my family was definitely good inspiration for this part.

“Of course - of course my only relatives in this city don’t call me up because they want to chat or know how I’m doing.  No, instead, they want me to babysit my three cousins under the age of ten for the day while they go take a spin in the countryside in whatever hot shit car my aunt managed to rent for the weekend.  Then they call up and say ‘Hey, it’s so nice here in the Catskills we’re going to spend the night at this lovely little resort, so dear Darcy, would you be able to stay and keep the kids company overnight?  We’ll be back sometime Sunday evening’.”  Darcy stutters to a halt and takes a deep breath, clearly heard by both Steve and Bucky even over the tinny little cell phone speaker.

 

“So what are you saying, Darcy?” Bucky asks, looking over at Steve who is pressing his lips together firmly, obviously trying not to bust out into laughter.

 

“Hellllllllp,” she whines.  “I’m not cut out for this sh--stuff.”

 

The look Bucky shoots him is a worried one, making Steve’s eyebrows arch up towards his hairline.  “Uh, you do know that neither one of us has any experience at all with kids,” Steve says.

 

“I know,” Darcy says, her voice taking on a frazzled edge, “but right now it’s three against one.  If you guys come it’ll be three against three and at the very least we’ll have that up on them.”  There’s a small series of sounds in the background.  “And they left me more than enough money for take-out tonight, so at the very least I can pay you in free food.”

 

Bucky snorts, rolling his eyes even though only Steve can see the look.  “You’re going to have to pay in ways other than food,” says Bucky, light-hearted enough that both of them can hear the joke in the words.

 

“I am fully prepared to make that sacrifice,” Darcy says.

 

\----------

 

The middle child, the quiet boy with the solemn, bright eyes immediately gloms onto Steve when he sees him fiddling around with his crayons.  It only takes a matter of minutes for Steve and the boy to be hunched over a stack of construction paper, creating multicolored designs and figures that really make sense only to them.

 

Darcy takes the oldest child in hand, an eight year old spitfire, and sets her up at the kitchen table with a stack of snacks and the homework that her mom and dad are insistent she finish before Sunday rolls around. It's clear to see Darcy has her hands full with this one, even though the affection in her eyes is clear.

 

This leaves Bucky to sit on the floor with the youngest of the group, a three and a half year boy with a wide grin that just speaks of trouble. Bucky thinks that if the child is troublesome, well, then he can give him trouble right back. Then he mentally smacks himself because really, he's pushing triple digits at this point. He should not be trying to one up a toddler.

 

The toddler - Bucky thinks his name is Joey, at least that's what Darcy had called him - has an impressive collection of toy cars spread out across the floor of what is ostensibly the kids' playroom, complete with a sprawling track with fake trees and even a couple of lights here and there.

 

Bucky picks up one of the toy cars, an elaborate little replica constructed out of what is obviously child-safe plastic, and gives it a wary glance.  Joey's busy crashing two other cars together, making screeching and groaning noises that Bucky presumes are supposed to mimic the sounds of an accident.  "You shoulda seen what we were playing with when I was your age," Bucky mutters, hefting the toy car in his hand and thinking of the tin cans and string and pieces of wood that flitted in and out of his earliest memories.

 

Joey just looks up at him with wide, dark eyes and smiles toothily.  "Vroom," he says, driving one of the cars in a wide arc around Bucky's feet.

 

"That is the noise a car makes," Bucky agrees.

 

Joey guides the car further around his body until it bumps into the fingers of his metal arm, which makes Bucky arch his eyebrows skyward.  Still, it's nice to find someone who's not aware of what that arm represents, even if it is a three and a half year old kid who obviously doesn't watch the news.  He runs the car over metal fingers, giggling at the clattering sound the hard plastic wheels make as they move about.

 

"Really, kid?" Bucky asks, though it's more a hypothetical question than anything else.

 

He watches as Joey's eyes widen and his hand traces a line up the length of his metal arm (it's hot as balls inside even with the a/c running full speed, and it's apparent the kids aren't freaked out by an artificial appendage).  "Can you make a road?" Joey asks in an awed, hushed voice as his fingers play around the seams of the limb.

 

"Huh?"  Bucky waves with his free hand at the loops of track on the floor.  "You've got lots of road right there."

 

Joey shakes his head.  "Nooooo," the kid drawls.  He attempts to pull Bucky's metal hand up off the floor, to no avail however.  "Make a road," he insists, running the toy car over Bucky's wrist once more.

 

Finally it dawns on him just what Joey is asking, and he shakes his head.  "I don't think that's a good idea, kid."

 

"Please?" Joey says, holding out the 'e' until Bucky's certain it sounds like an air raid siren.

 

"Fine," he sighs.  Anything to stop Joey making that noise, Bucky thinks.  He holds his metal arm parallel with the floor, and bites back another sigh as the kid begins to run the car all the way up and down his arm.  

 

Joey giggles at the loud, clacking noise the wheels make every time they run over one of the curves and seams.  And it amazes Bucky that he's so happy just because of one simple little thing.  Bucky knows that he hasn't been that innocent in a long, long time, and it's nice to see that there's a little of it left in the world in these small ways.

 

Even if said small ways are making an ungodly noise that could probably be heard all the way in Jersey.

 

Another noise does make it through to his ears, however, and Bucky looks up at the doorway when he hears a dull thud coming from that direction.  Steve and Darcy are there leaning against the frame, grinning down at him in a fond and slightly evil way.  But what makes Bucky really scowl at them is the sight of the cell phone in Steve's hand, and at that point he's certain the damn thing is set to record.  "I am going to make you pay for this," he spits out, keeping his face calm so as not to scare Joey (who's not paying any attention anyway).

 

Darcy blows him a kiss while Steve just holds up the camera a little higher, the grin on his face growing even wider.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, the prompts box is open at my blog: aenariasbookshelf.tumblr.com. Thanks for reading!


	3. Snow Shoveler Extraordinaire (Steve and Bucky)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even Captain America and the Winter Soldier get stuck shoveling snow sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a long, long while since I've updated this ficlet collection. So in honor of that, you're getting three new chapters tonight for the price of one. All of them came from prompts the wonderful people on Tumblr have given me over the past year (I said I was behind...). So if you're interested in other ficlets and toss some prompts of your own into the mix, come and visit me at aenariasbookshelf.tumblr.com.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

“Come on, Buck,” Steve says, sipping at his coffee to try and hide his smirk. “Put that metal arm of yours to good use.”

Bucky just glares at him, crossing that metal arm of his over his chest. “I had enough of snow in Russia. You wanna go outside and shovel in the middle of that shit, be my guest.”

Still, not ten minutes later Bucky finds himself outside on the Brooklyn sidewalk with Steve and a few others from their apartment building, snow and wind blowing all around them, begrudgingly taking a shovel in hand.

It’s not exactly a secret that their landlord is a bit of a hack who doesn’t give a damn about snow removal…or building repairs…general maintenance. Bucky always says that Captain America shouldn’t stand for this in his living situation. Steve then always points out that as the whole Captain America thing is a secret, that really wouldn’t be a prudent argument with the landlord. That, and SHIELD doesn’t exactly pay the biggest of bucks, and if they didn’t want to live in the equivalent of base housing then they need to live somewhere within their means.

The neighborhood’s good though, and the neighbors even better, which is why they and a few other able-bodied tenants are outside during the one of the lulls in the latest snowstorm clearing off the stoop and the sidewalks so that the build-up isn’t so terrible by the time the whole mess is over. There are enough people out there that they can probably get it done quickly enough, then head back inside where it’s warm and toasty (at least the heat is working, something Bucky is immensely grateful for).

When Bucky glances over at Steve he can see he’s shoveling off the sidewalk in methodical little patches, scraping one shovel-sized section clear to the concrete before moving on to the next patch.

And then…then Bucky gets an _idea_. He represses the grin as he subtly bends down to scoop up a handful of snow. It only takes a few moves to compress it into a nice, compact ball. Aim won’t be a problem – he’s still a sniper, after all (even through everything that’s happened), and he’s hit tougher marks at further distances.

Besides, this is putting his skills to good use, he’s convinced.

Steve’s focused on his latest shovelful of snow, not paying attention to anything but that, when Bucky lets the snowball loose. It flies straight and true, smacking Steve firmly in the back of his knit-cap covered head. That gets his attention, though, and he stands up straight, shovel clenched firmly in his hands.

It only takes a second for his eyes to land on Bucky who, he’s got to admit, has a total shit-eating grin on his face. The grin doesn’t waver when Steve drops his shovel to the ground, points a finger at him, and says “You’re on.”


	4. Feeling Good (Bucky/Darcy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the prompt given to me by RainneCassidy: "I didn't know you could sing," featuring Bucky and Darcy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the prompt given to me by RainneCassidy: "I didn't know you could sing," featuring Bucky and Darcy.

“I didn’t know you could sing.  Or play the piano for that matter.”

 

Bucky’s hands freeze on the keys of the piano.  They’re worn smooth with years of use, smooth enough that even his metal fingers glide easily along the surface.  The dull ivory color picks up the sunlight coming in from outside, bouncing off of the glossy brown surface of the wood also.  He looks over to where the voice is coming from and spots Darcy leaning against the door frame, arms loosely crossed over her chest and an indulgent smile on her face.

 

“That’s because we don’t have a piano at home,” he says, sitting back and twisting on the bench to face her.  “Your aunt said I could use it.”  Bucky shrugs, staring off at one of the many leafy and expansive plants that Darcy’s Aunt Miriam placed around the three-season room.  It almost feels like he’s playing in a jungle, or a botanic garden hidden away in a cabin in the woods.  It’s a calming place, quiet except for the sounds of the music coming out of his hands.  Which for some reason he felt like indulging in.  

 

He shakes his head, lips pursed thoughtfully.  “I haven’t actually played in years.  Not since before the war, before this.”  Bucky waves the metal arm in the air.  He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised by the dexterity in those gleaming fingers.  They can still dance over the keys just as well as his flesh and blood hand did.  Maybe it’s muscle memory, rooted somewhere deep in the brain and able to take over even when the muscles don’t exist anymore.

 

“We should get one, then.  You’re really good, you know.”  Darcy pushes herself off of the frame and winds her way through the plants, plopping herself down on the bench next to him.

 

“I’m okay,” he says, shifting backwards to give her a little more space.  A couple of palm fronds brush against his shoulder, making him twitch and brush them out of the way.  Palms aren’t exactly the best behaved, however, and they fall right back where they were, making Bucky grimace and Darcy giggle.  “I’ve been around players who are a lot better than I am.  Still managed to make some money off of my playing back in the day, however.”

 

Darcy leans back against her palms, stretching out a bit.  It’s a distracting sight, watching the way the fabric of her t-shirt curves over her torso.  “Do tell,” she says.

 

The memory is fresher than he expects, given all of the times his head’s been fucked with by scientists.  But it’s a good memory, one that makes him smile.  “There was this burlesque joint, down by the Navy Yard…”   
  


“Oh, god,” Darcy mutters, pursing her lips hard enough that Bucky can tell she’s fighting back the smirk.

 

“Uh-huh.  Now, once upon a time little Stevie Rogers used to go down there to observe the girls and use them as life models for those Tijuana bibles you and I both know he used to draw, even though he won’t admit it to anyone else he knows.”

 

“That’s because Natasha would never let him forget it and it just may break Tony’s brain.  He could tell Sam, though.  Because he’s cool like that.”

 

“Possibly,” Bucky nods.  “And sometimes I used to go along with him for moral support.”

 

“Is that what they’re calling it now?”

 

“You gonna let me tell the story or not?”

 

Darcy mimes zipping her lips and motions to Bucky to continue.

 

“Thank you.  Anyway, they had this guy there to play the piano, give the girls a soundtrack to dance around to.  He got a little fresh one too many times with the girls, though, and got tossed out on his ass.  Now, this happened on a night when the club was full and the girls still had hours to go, so somehow I got volunteered to take over on the keys.  The girls went ahead and did their act, and the owner was so pleased that at the end of the night I had a few extra bucks in my pocket and an invitation to come back.”  He shrugs again, idly dancing his fingers over the keys as the old vision of the club plays out in his head.  “Came in handy when it was time to make the rent payment a few months.”

 

Darcy reaches out and covers his metal hand with her own where it lays on the keys.  “That’s pretty cool,” she says.

 

“You know, it really was,” Bucky grins.  She leans forward and presses a kiss to his cheek, warm and lingering and soft against the days of stubble he hasn’t bothered to shave off.  

 

“I’m glad it’s a good memory.”  Darcy pulls back, giving him an impish look.  “Do you think you could sing something for me now?” she asks, and the hope on her face is obvious.

 

Bucky’s mouth opens and closes a couple of times while his brain tries to figure things out.  Performing in front of people has always been a raw, visceral experience for him.  At least when he was at the club no one was paying attention to him; they were far too taken with the girls to even notice the guy behind the piano.  Here and now, however, it’s so intimate, close enough for Darcy to see every little bit of him laid bare as he plays his music.

 

But she’s seen him through far worse, he knows, and this little escape to her aunt’s home has been good for them.  So what if he shows a little emotion while getting lost in the music?  Maybe that would be a  good thing.

 

“All right,” Bucky says, making her burst out into a sunny smile.  He twists on the bench to face the keys again, his hands landing on them lightly.  “This is a new song.  Well, new for me at least.”  He feels Darcy’s palm against his back, and he leans into it, taking a deep breath to prepare himself.

 

Then his fingers find the right chords, bringing a brief opening to life, and he begins to sing.

 

‘Birds flying high, you know how I feel,

Sun in the sky, you know how I feel,

Breeze drifting on by, you know how I feel,

It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life

For me,

And I’m feelin’ good...’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are countless versions of the song that Bucky sings here, but my favorite one is by Nina Simone: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D5Y11hwjMNs.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Executive Transvestites (Steve/Darcy/Bucky)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because the mental image of Steve, Darcy, and Bucky all in drag is a very appealing one to me. Yes, yes it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because the mental image of Steve, Darcy, and Bucky all in drag is a very appealing one to me. Yes, yes it is. I'm pretty sure someone else originally prompted this idea, but needless to say lots of fun was had by all here. ;-)

"My god, that waistline is criminal. Seriously, I would kill to have that waist." The voice is almost directly behind him, and Steve's certain he's the topic of conversation. He can feel his cheeks burn, just slightly, but the lights are low enough in the club that no one will notice.

Darcy's hand lands on his and squeezes gently. She gives him a sparkling look from under her hat, a wide-brimmed fedora that does a fine job of hiding all of her hair inside it. "You look gorgeous," she says, loud enough that only he can hear her over the hustle and bustle. It'd be too hard to try and kiss her in thanks, what with her hat and the dark wig he's currently got on, so he flips his hand over and laces his fingers through hers, resting them carefully on the table.

It was no surprise at all for Steve and Bucky to discover that Darcy has quite the eclectic group of friends, cobbled together from various places and passions and congregating around the fact that they all chose to call New York home. For the briefest, fleeting moment Steve was worried what her friends would think of the unconventional relationship they had going, but it had turned out to be a true non-issue.

"I'd be more worried about telling them the whole, you know, senior citizen superhero thing," Darcy had said one night as they were getting ready to pack it in and go to sleep.

"I'll give you senior citizens," Bucky growled, playfully tackling Darcy to the bed, making her shout and then bury her giggles in the covers. And then, when she was distracted enough, Steve began to creep his fingers below her waistband...

"Ten minutes until showtime," Darcy says, snapping shut an old pocket watch that Steve's pretty sure she lifted from his dresser (It's not like he uses it all that often, but he likes the weight of it in his pocket sometimes). "Where the hell is Bucky? He said he was going to be here."

Steve shakes his head, the ends of the wig brushing strangely against his jaw. He's had to deal with the makeup and the wigs and the costuming accoutrements during the USO tour, but there's something different when he's dressing up for personal reasons. Kind of dangerous, and kind of freeing. He'll analyze it later. Right now he'll focus on the way Darcy rakes her teeth over her lower lip when she looks at him for too long. "He'll get here when he gets here," Steve says, squeezing her hand once more. "And you know Bucky, if he says he's coming, then he will."

Steve does have to say that Darcy looks especially fine in the slim tuxedo she's wearing, which is black and sleek and classic. Really, the only thing that Steve doesn't like about the outfit is that she had to tape down her breasts to wear it. "The lines just don't look as good otherwise," she'd said earlier that evening as she buttoned up the crisp white shirt in her friend's dressing room backstage at the club.

It’s said friend's suggestion, after all, which had led them to this point. Matt had got word a couple of weeks before that he was going to be headlining his first drag show, and all of his friends had to show up for support. And show up fully made up as well, which meant dresses, makeup, and the accessories to go with it. This had then led to Darcy convincing Steve and Bucky that they would look pretty damn hot in some of those dresses. For good measure, Darcy would be putting on the tuxedo as well to complete the trio. “That and I want to proudly show off my two girls to the world,” she’d said with a saucy wink and a cocked hip.

Steve had turned out to be a little tougher to dress than just slapping on a tux. Luckily Matt was able to work a miracle and come up with a proper dress for Steve to wear between his collection and whatever was floating around in the dressing rooms backstage. "There's no way of hiding that these are a man's shoulders," Matt had said, clapping his hands on Steve's upper arms and squeezing, "So we are going to have to get creative."

Bucky just grinned, sat back, and propped his heels up on Matt's vanity. "Don't worry about me," he’d said. "I know what I'm going to do," looking overly confident for a man still wearing ripped jeans and a sweater which had certainly seen better days a mere three hours before the show.

They settle on a silvery gunmetal colored dress for Steve that drapes off of and around the shoulders yet cinches the waist in tightly, drawing the eyes downward and taking the eyes off of the broad shoulders that really are impossible to hide. Shadows and liners help make his eyes look bluer than he's ever seen, and apparently his lips are pink enough already that he only needs a little bit of gloss to really round things off.

When Steve looks at himself in the mirror for the first time after getting all dolled up, it's an intense experience. He looks like himself...but then again he doesn't. It's always him underneath the paint, however. And when Darcy comes up behind him, resting her chin on his shoulder and spreading her warm hands out across his midsection, he feels like he's regained his footing and is ready to go out there and take on the world.

Steve's eyes dart to the entryway of the club, skimming over tables and the bars. He spots a few others in Darcy's social circle, nodding when their eyes meet his, but still no sign of Bucky. He wasn't late, but Steve knew (and knew that Darcy would agree with him) that they wanted him there sooner rather than later.

All right, maybe he's also waiting for Bucky's stamp of approval with the outfit as well, but he keeps his insecurities quiet. Although there must be something written on his face because Darcy spins in her seat to face him directly, tapping once on his chin to bring his eyes to her. "What's going on in that big brain of yours?" she asks. "Because I can pretty much smell the burning smoke from here."

Steve snorts, then runs his hands down Darcy's sides over the well fitted jacket. "Just worried about Bucky," he says. "I know he's not due to be sent out anywhere, but - "

" - he has a tendency to attract trouble," Darcy finishes up with a nod. "Well, then I think we should just distract ourselves while we wait." She stands up, pushing her chair back, then twists and straddles Steve right where he sits and drapes her arms over his shoulders. His hands go back to her waist, keeping her steady where she's balancing on his thighs. "This is much easier to do when in pants, by the way," she says with a dangerous smirk.

"And that would be the best way to cap off this evening, with us getting arrested for public indecency."

She shakes her head. "Nah, Matt's cozy with the owners here. He'll just get us a private room instead." Steve can feel Darcy's fingertips on the bare skin of his upper back, stroking gently and brushing against the bottom strands of the wig.

Steve leans in close, nipping at her lower lip once, quickly. "Now do you really want to test that?" he says, voice dropping to a whisper.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite guy and my favorite gal."

As one they turn to see Bucky standing there, dressed up in a slinky red dress that gives the impression of curves. The one-sleeved get up and a pair of opera gloves goes a long way to keeping the metal arm covered up, while his hair is slicked back in an apparently retro look that's still all too modern to Steve's sensibilities. It's a delicious look, Steve thinks, and he knows Darcy agrees when he sees her run her tongue over her lower lip. "Look what the cat dragged in," Steve says, waving a hand in his direction.

Bucky takes the hand and bends down, first pressing a wet kiss to Steve's mouth and then to Darcy's. "Don't you two look good," he says, taking over Darcy's abandoned chair and scooting it over as close to Steve as possible.

"I could say the same about you." Darcy twists around on Steve's lap to drape her legs over Bucky. Steve moves an arm up behind her back, giving her room to stretch out and lounge like she’s a black jungle cat.

Bucky glances over at Steve and winks once. "A regular Marlene Dietrich over here, huh?"

"Don't I know it," Steve agrees in a low voice. "So where did the dress come from?"

"You'd be amazed at what Tasha has in her closet."

"And in a size that's pretty much tailor made for you, no less."

"I've had some interesting missions over the years."

"No doubt."

The lights go down, and Darcy straightens up a little, though her body's still mostly draped across her boys. "And here we go," she says, just as the audience begins to cheer.


	6. Dinnertime (Steve/Darcy/Bucky)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters are short little OT3 snippets spurred on by the Tumblr prompts I've been given over the last few months. Some are more detailed, others are literally five sentence prompts, and one would...well, we could call it a bit of an AU story from this universe, but they're all about this beloved OT3 of mine. ;)

While Darcy’s cooked for and with her boys before, it feels slightly different once they’ve all moved into their new apartment.  It’s become more of a dance, Darcy thinks, as she watches the way the boys weave around each other as she chops up some vegetables on the butcher block that’s been set into the floating island precisely for this purpose (their new apartment is legit one of the swankest places she’s ever seen, even though it’s simple and unassuming and feels like _home_ more than anything else).

Steve stands by the stove, stirring some almonds and dried cranberries into the rice to finish off the pilaf with an almost intense concentration that pilaf doesn’t exactly merit.  Bucky’s dealing with the meat, opening the oven just a crack to take a look at how it’s coming along, and when he straightens up he sidles past Steve, close enough to cop a feel of Steve’s ass as he does, and give Darcy a sly wink in the process.

Darcy just shakes her head, grinning into her chopping, and knowing that there’s absolutely nowhere else in the world that she’d rather be.


	7. Political Scientist (Steve/Darcy/Bucky)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five sentence prompt! Steve and Bucky are surprised by how closely Darcy is following the election, and she has to remind them that she did study Political Science. (Because Political Science!)

It’s a combination of two things that wakes Steve up – the first is the sound of Bucky grumbling behind him and his arms tightening on his waist, and the second is the glow from the computer screen, which, at two in the morning in a dark bedroom, is always going to look especially eerie.  He blinks his eyes open and stares up at Darcy blearily, watching as she leans in even closer to the glowing computer screen and tapping a couple of times on the touchpad.

“Darcy, come to bed,” Steve mumbles, even though technically they’re all already in bed and two out of three of them are mostly asleep…well, at least Steve is, because Bucky’s a lot more blunt and awake sounding when he says grumpily, “If you don’t put that computer away I’m tossing it out the window.”

Darcy just snorts gracelessly and gives her boys a _look_ as she says, “Yeah, sure, like I’m going to sleep when the post-convention reviews of the RNC and the DNC are happening right now and not to be missed.  Poli-sci major,” she explains with a wave of her hand at the computer and a smirk on her face, “and this stuff is either a trainwreck in progress or Christmas come early, so you two can sleep while I soak it all in.”


	8. The Models (Steve/Darcy/Bucky)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rembrandtswife - Mmm... care to write a fic where Steve models for someone? a little Tumblr ficlet for me?

“You promise that no one outside of us will see these?”

“I promise,” Darcy reassures her boys, checking all of the settings on her camera once more.  While it’s got a digital screen, it’s also got all of the bells and whistles – a gift from Steve and Bucky when the photography course she was taking went past an idle hobby and became actual art that was coming out of her fingers.  It’s a heady feeling, Darcy’s discovering, that creative rush and being able to show people the way she sees the world.

Even if some of those pictures will never see the light of day beyond the three of them.  A promise is a promise, after all.

The curtains are pulled firmly shut to block out the outside world, and artificial lights are set up to give the room the exact feel she’s looking for.  The judicious application of fabric throws and embroidered pillows turns the living room into someplace else, from a different world and a different time, blurring the lines between reality and fantasy.  This is her image that they’re attempting to create there, but she won’t know for sure until it’s fully brought to life.

Steve and Bucky strip down to their boxer briefs, which are further hidden by drapey, gauzy sheets to help keep up the illusion that this is someplace else.  They sit down on the throws and Darcy arranges them carefully, tugging and pushing at limbs until they start to resemble the pictures that she’s seeing in her head.  They’re unusually quiet and willing to play along with her…well, she’d expected it from Steve, who knows full well what it’s like to be in that creative mode.  But Bucky, a man who’s fought so long and so hard to regain control over himself and his life, is surprisingly malleable and following her whims.

It’s a gift, Darcy knows, and she’s not going to abuse it.

Finally, her boys are arranged just how she’d imagined it in her head, splayed out on the throws in a collection of planes and angles.  They breathe shallowly, holding the pose until she’ll tell them to move.

“Don’t fuck it up, Darcy,” she mutters under her breath, which makes Bucky’s chest shake just a little with the snicker he’s holding back.  She just clicks the button on the camera, setting the shutter off, and the small noise makes the boys still once more.

And then, she begins.

Darcy crouches down on the floor, peering through the viewfinder until she catches the perfect sight.  Both boys are propped up against the covered couch, slouching down so they look lax and loose.  Bucky’s legs are stretched out in front of him, one of those sheets draped over his lap to give the impression that’s all he’s wearing, and his flesh arm rests against the cushions.  The other metal arm is bent upwards, curled hand resting loosely against his head.  He’s looking down at Steve, eyes heavy lidded and slightly sleepy, wet mouth curled in a slight grin, like he’s been ridden hard and put away wet. 

Steve looks…downright sinful, Darcy thinks, sinking her teeth into her lower lip to try and keep her focus on taking the pictures and not on how beautiful her boys look.  His head is tipped back against Bucky’s metal arm, which exposes the long lines of his neck and his bare chest for all to see, the sculpted planes looking almost like marble through the black and white setting she’s put the camera on.  One of his legs is stretched out along Bucky’s, but the left leg has fallen open, giving the impression that if it weren’t for that damn sheet, then everyone in the world would be able to see what he’s got on offer.  Steve’s eyes are closed, and on the screen his lashes are a thick, black slash against the white marble of his skin.

Darcy squeezes her thighs together, just slightly, enough to relieve the pressure that’s starting to build up inside her.  Just until she can get the pictures that she wants.  Then she can indulge herself.

She moves around the tableau, snapping shots from a few different angles, capturing the spirit of the scene.  She wants to immortalize the looks that her boys are trading with each other, because even if no one outside the three of them will ever see these pictures, this way they will still persevere and be preserved.  The looks that they’re giving her through the lens of her camera is enough to pull her into the scene, to make her a part and an extension of it, even if her face will never be in there.

Eventually Darcy drops the camera away from her face with a rough exhale, settling it down in her lap as the adrenaline fades.

“You okay?” Steve asks, sitting up slightly and reaching out for her.

“Yeah,” Darcy says, nodding.  “Here.”  She crawls over and settles down between them, flipping the camera around so they can all see the shots on the small screen.  As she scrolls through the shots she feels Bucky’s flesh hand dipping under her shirt and skating up her spine, leaving her shivering slightly in its wake.  On her other side she can feel Steve’s breath speed up, just a little bit, as they pass an especially intimate looking photo.

Who is she kidding, though, the entire photoshoot is an exercise in intimacy.

Before they can finish looking through the set Steve pulls the camera out of her hands and leans in to kiss her hard.  Darcy’s mouth opens under his, inviting his tongue inside, just as Bucky’s hands slide even further up her shirt and reach for her breasts.

The final photo of the night (courtesy of Steve holding up the camera as high as possible above them to get the best selfie that he could) is a different sort of intimacy – the three of them half buried under the mussed up throws in a messy, giddily grinning, post-coital puppy pile, huddled together so that the lines between them blur and it’s hard to tell where one ends and the others begin.


	9. Apparition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you're still doing five-sentence prompts, ShieldShock or WinterShieldShock, I'm a wizard and I accidentally apparated into your house. Oops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can't tell from the summary, this is the chapter that goes a bit AU with a crossover...

It’s all too easy for Steve to make out the thudding of his combat boots on the creaking wooden floorboards, his breath rasping in his lungs as he runs fast, faster than any human should have a right to, but then adrenaline and whatever creature is chasing them is a wonderful boost to the super serum.  Next to him, Bucky stumbles, almost going down if it weren’t for Steve reaching out to hoist him back up and propel them both forward again.

The way out of the house is nowhere to be seen, and then, suddenly, Steve knows what he has to do.  It’s something he hasn’t done since, hell, before the war, but desperate times call for desperate measures.  Steve turns his focus inwards, pulling up that sudden swell of power that he hasn’t felt in oh so long, and clutches Bucky even tighter.  He puts the image of their girlfriend and their cozy apartment firmly in his head, and gasps out, “Brace yourself, Buck,” just before he lets the power loose, the air crackling as they disappear between one step and the next.

They crash land directly on their bed, the sudden warm glow of low lighting a total change from the grim dank and darkness of the house they were in just moments before.  Bucky pushes himself to a sitting position and blinks hard, staring around at their bedroom with a bemused glance.  “Didn’t think you remembered how to do that,” he mutters, just as Steve lets out a long breath and flops back on the pillows, the relief coursing through his system now that they’re safe.

That’s when the bedframe, in stark protest of their actions from moments ago, creaks ominously and then splits apart, the headboard detaching from the frame and depositing the bottom frame, box spring, mattress, and two very surprised super soldiers on the floor.

“What the fuck?” they hear Darcy cry out from the living room, followed quickly by her running over to the bedroom and throwing the door open.  Steve’s not sure what she was expecting to see, but he’s pretty sure it’s not the two of them given the way that her head darts between them, the large picture window in their bedroom (which does not have a balcony and is a good thirty stories off the ground), and back at the front door to the apartment.  That and the fact that just moments ago they were technically half way across the country.  “How…?” she gasps.

“I can explain,” Steve blurts out.

“This ought to be good,” Bucky mumbles.

**Author's Note:**

> My ask box is always open. Come visit it at aenariasbookshelf.tumblr.com!


End file.
